Used My Body Just Like A Bandage
by theywillneverknow
Summary: One-shot Sirius/Marlene angst-ridden drabble. 'The memory lingers like a vicious taste in his mouth; a bitter hint of desperation and the loss of all things innocent.' Strong language and non-explicit scenes of a mild sexual nature.


Title: Used My Body Just Like A Bandage  
Author: **firstflier**  
Pairing: Sirius Black/Marlene McKinnon**  
**Rating/Warnings: scenes of a very mild sexual nature, curse words, angst (oh, the angst)**  
**Summary: Written for week 6 prompts 'today I woke up and you were gone', 'take the pieces when you go' and 'I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all'. Title taken from Meat Loaf's 'Objects In The Rear View Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are'.

'_The memory lingers like a vicious taste in his mouth; a bitter hint of desperation and the loss of all things innocent.____'_

_  
_Author's notes: Originally written for **hp_smutday** with the prompt being 'today I woke up and you were gone', 'take the pieces when you go' and 'I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all'. Very quick and not much smut. Sorry about that, folks. (Sorry, no beta because I didn't have the time. Any errors please point out and I will edit.)

Used My Body Just Like A Bandage

He watches her shimmy into her school skirt with only mild interest. His eyes dart around the room; there are two empty bottles near the door and they stand like neglected gravestones on the plush carpet. He follows the trail of his clothes scattered on the floor and thinks the pieces of his heart might be scattered with them. He wishes she would take them with her but she won't do him any favours and she doesn't want this gift. This is not new; it's nothing he hasn't seen before so, when she leaves the dormitory without even glancing at him, he is hardly surprised.

He is surprised to find that it hurts just as much as it did the first time.

*****

She ignores him in the hallway and he wonders if the uncomfortable roll of her shoulders is because she can feel his hot gaze on her back. He hopes it is and his lips tug upwards in a smug-as-shit smirk.

The rest of the day follows in a similar manner.

He stares unashamedly at her in class and she slumps further and further in her seat. It is a poor attempt to escape his piercing eyes and he would laugh if the situation was even slightly funny. But it's not and he doesn't.

Their eyes don't meet until much later when she is sitting poker straight in an arm chair and he is lounging on the comfy sofa in the common room. Hazel finally snaps to grey and the air seems to crackle. He realises he is holding his breath but he refuses to look away. He will not give in to this power struggle when she is so close to conceding defeat. Her eyes flit away and, before he can roar with victory, she has risen to her feet and dashed up the girls' staircase.

He finds himself disappointed with this lacklustre reaction and wonders what he was really hoping for anyway.

He considers this for the briefest of moments and then her best friend is poking him irately.

"Stop staring at her."

He slowly lifts his eyes to the girl's face and is not quite prepared for the fire he finds in her glare.

"What are you talking about, Evans?" It's a drawl and it serves only to infuriate the redhead further.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Black. Stop staring at Marlene." Something flashes in her eyes and he thinks, just for a split second, that it might have been pity.

"I'll do whatever I want, Evans."

"The hell you will! Now you just listen-"

"No, _you _listen; you might have Prongs pussy-whipped to the point that he's growing a fucking vagina but you don't get to tell me what to do."

"I'm not growing a vagina!" Is a manly squeak from somewhere on his left and Sirius finds himself storming towards the dormitory, ignoring both James' incoherent spluttering and Lily's incessant, high pitched nag because fuck _that._

So maybe he's a dick and maybe James will make him apologise to Evans later but right now he couldn't care less. He kicks his bed and wishes that he could just feel something other than anger and hurt. More than this, he wishes he could find the energy to show anything but indifferent apathy.

He slumps onto the bed, head held in his hands, and waits for the inevitable.

The door opens, just as he predicts, and two feet pad across the carpet towards him. He doesn't look up until he hears the clink of glass against glass.

And there she is; the angel of his nightmares, holding two bottles of firewhiskey in her hands and a sheepish look on her face.

This is how it always starts and he's worried that perhaps they are balancing on a thin precipice above alcoholism.

"Mar-"

"Don't. Please, Sirius, just don't." Her voice is a tired whisper and he finds his throat closing on words he wants to say and there are so many. She sits beside him on the bed and he sighs as she thrusts a bottle into his lap. He stares at his clasped hands and he listens to her gulp down the alcoholic beverage. The glass is cold against the palm of his hands and he rolls it from one to the other, watching the amber liquid slosh inside the bottle. It looks like molten lava and he knows it will burn him up from the inside if he takes one measly sip. He considers placing it on the floor and leaving the room like he knows he should (like he knows she will come morning). He knows he should leave the bruised, broken girl on his bed and not look back. He also knows that it is impossible for him to do anything but fulfil her expectations of him.

His nimble fingers unscrew the lid and the sound of metal grating against glass is harsh in the silence.

Twenty minutes later most of the alcohol is gone and she is leaning against him, her breath warm and heavy on his neck. His hands are wrapped tightly around the bottle neck and he wishes he still had feeling in his toes. Sometimes the numbness helps but tonight it makes him feel dizzy and sick. Marlene shifts even closer to him and presses a wet kiss to the skin of his neck. He shivers and the smell of her perfume assaults his nose.

He wants to tell her that he hates the cloying fragrance; that he wants to be left with the smell of _her _on his bed sheets andnot something out of a bottle. But he finds his tongue frozen as she slides a tiny hand into the midnight black of his hair, her voice whispering 'please, please'. The empty bottle slides from his fingers, landing with a muffled thud on the floor. His head turns toward her and she struggles into focus. He stares at her, taking in her dark, dark eyes and the way that she is ever so slightly swaying from side to side.

He thinks maybe he could love this girl; maybe he already does.

While she is here she is entirely his; the sparkle in her eyes and the warmth of her breath and her soul capturing smile. They are all his to tuck away and keep in his memory. Maybe the sparkle is blurry and there is alcohol on her breath and her smile might be a poor attempt to recover a part of the old Marlene. But they are his to treasure, and treasure he does.

He leans forward to touch her hair and there is something like fear in her eyes. His heart clenches painfully and he wishes he were sober enough to give a damn and stop this descent into madness. But he isn't and he won't. So, when she slides into his lap and removes his tie, he is almost powerless to stop her. He thinks that if she really cared about him, even just a little, she wouldn't put him through this. She wouldn't abuse his vulnerable ego and dress him up like a man when he still feels like a boy. She places a kiss on his forehead and he wants to believe it is out of some feeling of genuine affection rather than an empty gesture of intimacy. Maybe he is weak and, as her little fingers find the buttons of his shirt, all of his resistance melts away. His fingers trace her spine, gently and slowly as she divests him of his shirt. The sound of her voice in the silence is almost harsh and it startles him. She doesn't normally talk.

"Do you remember how this started?"

Of course he remembers. The memory lingers like a vicious taste in his mouth; a bitter hint of desperation and the loss of all things innocent.

"Yes." His voice is a rumble against her shoulder. It had been the day her brother had been reported missing and her Uncle's body had turned up mutilated and defiled. He had held her and comforted her and things had progressed rather rapidly from there.

"Why'd you do it?" The question is not loaded, it is not particularly invasive, just a simple question asked in a simple way and he is at least grateful for that.

"I wanted to help. I thought I could...I don't know, fix you or something."

He wonders if, in trying to heal her, he has broken himself and the thought is so unnerving that he shies happily away from any implications it might have for him in the future.

She manoeuvres around him so that she lays splayed on his bed.

"So, then, fix me."

And it's _Marlene. _Wonderful, stubborn, laughs too loud, beautiful, gossiping, grieving Marlene. He wonders if anyone could say 'no'.

Clothes are removed quickly and there is no time to stop and admire the craftsmanship of her body. Their meeting is not slow and loving or a divine connection between two kindred souls; it is angry and sloppy and he can feel reality creeping up on her with every second they spend moving in sync on his bed. Her sighs and moans transform to choked gasps and hisses as his hips roll into hers. He tries to ignore the fact that her eyes are screwed so tightly shut he can see tears gathering on her eyelashes but the image is too much. Far too much for a boy of seventeen to comprehend or have to deal with. He finds himself slowing and halting his movements altogether.

"Mar, you need to- please just look at me?"

Her eyelashes flutter and the darkness of her pupils has exploded. He kisses her softly on her parted lips and begins their dance all over again but, this time, there is a connection between them. He can see in her eyes that she understands, that this is more than convenience and teenage hormones for him. He isn't just a warm, willing body and she isn't just the chick that can't deal with her emotions properly. He is Sirius Black and she is Marlene McKinnon and he thinks, just for a second, that they might be making love. It is alien to him and he finds himself trying to show her just how much he needs her which is probably just a little bit more than she needs him. The cry of his name into the chill evening air sends him soaring off to previously unattainable heights. His euphoria is only enhanced when he lies next to her and she moves to wrap her body around his, along with her hand around his heart.

Lying beside her in a sweaty tangle of limbs is not the most comfortable position he has ever encountered but he has made her forget, even just for a few minutes, and, he supposes, that's all he's good for anyway.

*****

He wakes up to find her gone.

Her clothes are not lying haphazardly on the floor, there are no empty bottles littering the carpet, there is only the vague scent of something a little like vanilla and not a lot like Marlene. He finds it hurts even more that she isn't just ignoring 'them'; now she's trying to erase the act altogether.

He knows it is an escape mechanism. She is hoping to bury her feelings of grief and loneliness and heartache in meaningless bouts of sex. He knows that she doesn't love him, won't or can't he wouldn't like to say, but he can't say no to her. It hurts to think that she would have such little regard for his feelings but he resigns himself to the fact that that's the way the world is. She isn't the first one to use him and she probably won't be the last.

But Marlene McKinnon is the one that hurts him the most.

_&&Fin._


End file.
